Stay
by Skylarcat
Summary: Shaving cream, our favorite agents, and one small request, "Stay".


**Title:** Stay  
**Author:** Skylarcat  
**Classification:** MSR, short fic  
**Rating:** PG 13  
**Feedback:** Yes, please.  
**Summary:** Shaving cream, our favorite agents, and one small request, "Stay".  
Note: Scully and Mulder are characters that belong to Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions. Yes, I have used them without permission. However, no copyright infringement is intended. And I will return them intact and a lot more satisfied.

**I've been biding my time  
Been so subtly kind  
I got to think so selfishly  
'Cos you're the face inside of me**

**I've been biding my days  
You see evidently it pays  
I've been a friend  
With unbiased views  
Then secretly lust after you**

**"Secretly" by Skunk Anansie**

There, within the prospects of dawn, a moment presents itself. It entangles with the moonlight; and coalesces with her scent. And it's so visible that he could reach out and touch it; yet it remains at a distance.

He recognizes it, even from where he stands; reserved in one small corner of his bathroom, and gazing at her with such scrutiny that he wonders if she feels the moment as well. If she has, she makes no acknowledgment. Instead, she's silent within his doorway; wearing an expression of hurt. And this breaks his heart.

The light creeps through from the only window, casting hues of honeysuckle and fire across her delicate skin. Within the moonlight, her features appear even more beautiful. He catches his breath. Was she always this stunning?

Her eyes never advert their attention; focusing squarely on him. The judgment and ridicule he expects to reside there are nowhere to be found. Instead, within its place, exists a need; a need for answers.

And he wants to scream, to scream out that he has acted out in haste. That he had only been trying to protect her. That he could not lose her; not now when he knows he could not go on without her. But she would rebuff with accusations of him considering her weak, not as an equal; which could not be further from the truth. So he remains silent; reserving his confession for another time. For a time when the risk wouldn't be so demanding. To ask her to unfold before him, to allow him in; to blindly take this leap with him, would be too much. And he knows this.

Her strength and partnership offers him solace, saves him. She has to know this; and yet he can not find the right words to tell her. Instead, he stands staring at her wounded expression. "You don't understand," he offers, reaching for his razor.

"Then tell me," she whispers.

He closes his eyes. She wants him to tell her; needs him to tell her, and he's terrified. He doesn't realize he is trembling until he feels her hand gently caress his. "Let me," she replies, and instantly he lets go of the razor.

"Sit down," she orders softly and gestures with her chin towards the toilet. He turns and closes the lid then lowers taking a seat. A moment later, she maneuvers her small frame between his legs so her body hovers only inches from his. The warmth of her body contact is immediate and he feels the heat rising from his inner thighs. He notices that her breast are at his eye level and instantly shuts his eyes not wanting to intrude upon such sacred territory. He's not worthy enough to witness such beauty.

The white foam fills her hand in an instant and he watches fixated as she begins to slowly smooth the lather within her fingers. Such small hands, he observes. Seemly elegant instruments they were. He thinks of all the times he has witnessed their delicate art. Skillful and prompt as they danced along the keyboard at work. Precise and deliberate as they performed another autopsy. Quick and steady as they drew her weapon of choice. And yet, soft and gentle as they caressed his face. She has such small beautiful hands.

She uses her fingertips to massage the shaving cream along the curvature of his jaw. Her touch is subtle, accurate, reading the lines of his face like a map. She knows the terrain well. He opens his eyes to watch her as she works. Her eyes narrow in concentration. One brow lifts in thought, and he catches himself smiling.

"So talk to me," She speaks and he feels his smile fade. There is so much he wants to say. How can he find the right words?

She takes a step back and inspects her work; and he chooses this moment to speak. "I wanted to protect you." His eyes never leave her.

"You ditched me," she counters then reaches for the razor that slumbers on the sink. He flinches and she notices. She speaks again, this time her voice is softer. "Don't do it again."

She's willing to forgive him once more and he's grateful. "I won't," he promises. "Never again." And he knows this is a promise that he will keep. She is his partner in every way. His best friend; his confidant. The only person in the whole damn world that he can trust. He will never ditch her again.

His reply satisfies her and she promptly reaches out her hand; tilting his chin to the side. "Tell me if I hurt you." He nods and she starts to shave him; sweeping the razor over his skin in smooth, blunt strokes. She pauses ever so often and runs the razor under the faucet. He notes her manner and wonders if she has done this before and if so with whom.

She stops for a moment and holds the razor away from him; examining her work. She gives him a smile and returns to her task. Her proximity causes his heart to race and his breath quickens. She feels warm between his legs. And he can smell her. She smells of honeysuckle and wine, sensual as a tropical night. Briefly, he thinks about touching her.

But she steps back and all his wanton thoughts disappear. She drops the razor within the sink and reaches for a washcloth. She dabs the cloth under the faucet then turns to face him. It's warm as it touches his face. With a gentle motion, she carefully removes the excess foam until he is clean. She discards the cloth back into the sink and wipes her tiny hands on her jeans. "All finish."

He almost sighs in disappointment. He misses her touch already. As though incomplete somehow. He stands and crosses over to the mirror, checking her labor. He's impressed. "You do nice work."

She laughs and he watches her through the mirror. "Thank you," he says and he means it in every way.

The light flickers in her eyes and she knows he isn't just referring to the shave. "No problem," she answers and turns to leave the bathroom. "You look exhausted," she notes; then adds, "You should get some sleep."

He knows she's retreating and quickly follows on her heels. He's not willing to allow her to flee so easily. She lifts her coat from his couch and turns almost running into him. "You're leaving," he questions.

She steps back, her eyes lowering. "It's late," she states the obvious.

"So." His voice falters. "Stay the night." This is the moment, he thinks. The moment that will direct the course of the rest of his life. The moment where things would be said that usually went unvoiced. Actions would be taken; and there would be no turning back. If this was truly the rightful course, would she be willing to follow him down this path? He holds his breath.

He watches as her eyes involuntary glance towards his bedroom, then back on him. She gnaws at her bottom lip in consideration, and glances at her watch. She knows if she stays she's opening Pandora's Box. "Okay," she pauses, "I'll stay."

"I'll stay," she repeats and he wonders if she's trying to convince herself. Hoping against all odds, that she won't change her mind.

They both stand silent; the agreement rendered, but neither knows how to proceed. They are both scared at the possibilities that are being presented.

She glances down at her attire, and then drops her arms exasperatedly. "I have nothing to sleep in."

He is quick with a solution. "You can sleep in one of my tee-shirts."

If she's going to run, this is the time. She has a solid excuse. She thinks momentarily, then answers, "Okay." She drops her coat back upon his couch. The decision made.

His hands feel wet and he slides them along his jeans. He tries to calm the somersaults within his stomach. This has been a long time coming. He takes a deep breath and heads towards his bedroom. She follows close behind.

He turns the bedside lamp on and glances in her direction. She's leaning against the doorframe, her copper hair falling indolently in her eyes. He smiles and suddenly feels introverted. He pulls open a drawer and searches for a clean T-shirt for her to wear. The thought of her wearing one of his shirts is almost his undoing.

"New York Knicks," he states as he hands her the item.

She rolls her eyes, but takes the shirt and without hesitation heads towards his bathroom. He stands for a moment, unsure on how to proceed and then moves towards his bed.

He's still; contemplating the next course of action. He pulls back the blankets for her; to only retreat. Afraid of the implications, he quickly pulls the covers back up. Then at the last moment, he changes his mind and pulls the blanket back down again. He's feeling nervous suddenly, uncommonly nervous; considering when she's near he's always calm.

The bathroom door squeaks, announcing her presence, and he turns in time to see her step out. She is radiant. Slightly timid, with her arms crossed. And he motions for the bed, sheepishly. Her eyes follow in his direction, noting the bed, before returning once more to him. Gradually she takes a step forward; reaching for the mattress with her hands, and lifting herself up onto it.

His eyes catch a glimpse of her naked thigh. His T-shirt having ridden up on her leg, revealing the creamy flesh there. She follows his gaze, and to his surprise, she doesn't bother covering herself. "Where will you sleep," she asks.

He glances at the door that leads to the hallway and points with his thumb. "On my old trusty couch."

She considers this for a moment, then pushes her self further onto the bed. Her eyes find his and lock. "You can sleep here with me. There's plenty of room."

He glances once more at the door, then back at her. His heart is beating rapidly. She is giving herself to him, if he wants her. And God, he wants her. This is the moment, and he can feel it. He feels the sudden surge of courage overcome him as he hears her whisper one small word that would unite them forever. "Stay."

**THE END!**


End file.
